


A Week in the Extraordinary Life of Mycroft Holmes

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Smut, James is attracted to Mycroft, JohnLock wedding (hinted), M/M, Mycroft is smitten by James, Not a Serious Fic, POV Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Some Humor, Some Plot, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: A.K.A  Mycroft's diary and his darkest secrets and deepest thoughts
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (minor)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	A Week in the Extraordinary Life of Mycroft Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



_Monday, 1 st of June. _

Hello Dear Diary

Woke up at 7 am sharp, as usual. Felt as sharp as ever and ready to start the day. But there were two things missing – My tea and my newspaper. Reminded my housekeeper Mrs. Finch rather sharply that my tea needs to be ready at this hour and six different newspapers have to be kept on a tray just outside my bedroom suite. She said she was just about to do so but the cat had got in her way and meowed for milk. I told her the cat doesn’t pay her salary, I do, therefore she should prioritize my work over that useless feline’s demands.

By 7-30 am I had finished two cups of tea and reading through all six newspapers. Not a great day for the Presidents of nations. One Prez died, one got divorced, one got deposed. I feel sorry for the first and third ones. The second one dodged a bullet. Who the hell gets married nowadays? Okay lots of people do and they prove the herd mentality but I see marriage as nothing more than a contract where you sleep with your partner and have to share a bathroom with them too. Yuck!

Finished my one hour on the treadmill, shower and the usual routine of dressing in one of my 3000 custom made suits. Picked one of the six Rolex watches I own and bespoke designer brogues. Panicked for a moment when I couldn’t find Rex …. oh sorry I haven’t mentioned this, Rex is my umbrella. It has a name and it has feelings. Found it waiting for me in the study, all ready to start the day with me.

Reached office at 9 am sharp. Sharply reminded the doorman he was slow too open the door.

Watched Sherlock doing weird things in his living room, like taking off his clothes (most of them, not all, thankfully) and dancing a jig on the couch, then repeating the same routine in the bathroom with his towel on. I had planted a surveillance camera in each room of his flat. Every month he finds and destroys them. Every month I set up a new one. He sends me routine texts saying he will destroy me one day. Hope he realizes fairy tales do not come true.

11 am, I am past two conference calls and a brief chat with one of my superiors and Sherlock is still doing those weird things.

Anthea came in around noon to remind me that Her Majesty will see me at 4 PM. She also told me Jim Moriarty was seen lurking around Buckingham Palace. I must save the Queen. I haven’t got my knighthood yet. Or maybe after saving her I would get it. Yeah!

Fired off a series of texts to Jim. Interesting conversation it was. Apparently he isn’t interested in killing someone without powers to change a single thing about the country. He was lurking around Buckingham Palace for the Queen’s husband, aka the Duke of Edinburgh. That was also cause for alarm and I was about to tell him to stay the hell away from our royals when he stumped me by saying Prince Phillip the Duke of Edinburgh had invited him to kidnap him and take him away from this madness for a while.

“Don’t you realize Myc, the walls around Buckingham palace were created to keep Phillip in and not the intruders out. Anyways, I haven’t taken the job. He was telling me he’d pay me in antiques and not currency, which I am not interested in. What if the antique sent to me is the Duchess of Pork…. sorry, the former Duchess of York!”

Must say that was an embarrassing conversation and he went on to torture me further by sending me several nudes of his. Said it was a ‘puzzle for me to solve’. Further embarrassment for me as I struggled through the process, not sure what was intended there and what kind of puzzle I was supposed to solve. In the first photo he sent me, James had posed with fruits covering his nude body. Then he had started sending more pics with some fruits removed in each. Slowly he was showing off more and more skin until the last pic arrived in which he had posed with one apple on his groin. The caption underneath that said, ‘Will you be my Steve’. I thought about asking Sherlock what this meant but could’t do that. I’m supposed to be smarter.

Uneventful day thereafter and I was in bed on time, as usual, 10 PM sharp. That was when I realized I had a primal need to fulfil. I was hard. I needed sex. That was when Moriarty texted me and said, ‘The straights have Adam and Eve’ while we have ‘Adam and Steve’. Duh, did that mean he was trying to propose…. Nah, these things are useless.

Called Agent V but he asked for a promotion in lieu. Asked him to stuff it elsewhere. Called my trusted aide Edwina and told her to send someone over but she said she has run out of options for me. No one wants to come over to my place because they apparently find me very intimidating. Bollocks!

Don’t know why. I am a gentleman and well-endowed, I have stamina to last long and a short refractory period. All I ask is they take a shower and scrub up, brush their teeth twice and have an enema before they get into bed with me. Oh, they need to lie in a certain direction, not make noise, not use their teeth, not have any dirt under nails, plucked eyebrows and feet free of corns and bunions. Oh yes, they must not kiss me on the mouth, they must be totally hairless down there, one testicle must not be bigger than the other….you know, simple little things.

Strangely, Edwina AND my shrink think I have OCD.

***

_June 2 nd, Tuesday_

Hell Diary

I woke up hard several times at night. James Isaac Moriarty is causing me some severe psychological issues. At night he sent me porn clippings and dirty jokes. When I tried to deduce the porn stars or the sequencing of his messages, he called me all sorts of names. Then he sent a complete nude of his on all fours and asked me ‘Don’t you still get it Iceman’. I responded immediately with ‘Pilates in the nude’ and the usual primary and secondary deductions that he is planning to bring England down on her knees (hence the position) and he would do this by inducing some kind of natural disaster (which explains his natural state with no clothes on).

He responded saying he will gut me like a fish. Impulse control issues, I think.

Mummy called as I was having breakfast. Told me I wasn’t seeing her often enough and she had made my favorite cakes, fruit cake for teatime and a nice chocolate and pineapple cake for dessert. So I visited her hoping the cakes were big enough to eat and carry home in Tupperware boxes, only to find that she had tricked me. She had called some family friends for lunch and that included her college friend Pauline’s son Benson. She was trying to set me up with him! Her excuse – Sherlock has John now, isn’t it about time you had someone to look after you! I told her I had my work, my staff, my housekeeper and my Rex and she gave me a strange look, saying I was too old to have blankies and ‘Rexes’.

‘You can’t give inanimate objects feelings’ were her words. Well, I do _nothing_ of that kind.

I just hope Rex isn’t offended.

Anyways, I kept trying to be as annoying and uncommunicative as possible to ensure people got the picture. I am not interested in marrying or company and I certainly don’t need that oddball to look after me. He thinks monarchy should be abolished, _ridiculous!_

Called baby bro Sherlock since I had been away from the surveillance cameras and I can’t trust him to handle himself through the day without me guiding him or stopping him from doing something stupid. But Holy Hell, I heard groaning noises instead of his voice. When he did answer, he sounded as if he was breathless and almost choking. Quickly connected to the surveillance cameras and saw John and Sherlock in the bedroom, wearing sheets.

Checked in on him hours later. He was asleep.

Checked later. Still sleeping.

Checked again in the evening. Gosh, he’s not awake yet.

A few I knew it, _I knew it._ One of his many enemies had drugged him or maybe he overdosed this time. If he dies on me I will kill him with my own hands.

Ten hours through the day and he hasn’t moved an inch. This isn’t natural, not normal at all. I texted John to go home immediately but he didn’t respond. Called and a nurse answered, telling me he was in surgery and wouldn’t come out even if the Queen called out his name.

_Why the hell do people reference royalty!_

I dozed off briefly on my way to Baker Street and woke up with a nightmarish vision that they had abolished monarchy before I had got my knighthood. God, it took me nearly a quarter of an hour to calm down properly. On arrival I rushed into the squalid 221B flat and found my brother awake. Whoa! It was like he had gone back in time. He and John were in the living room this time, still wearing sheets (this time I saw some holes in them). Asked them what the hell was going on that morning, John answered ‘Deep tissue massage’. When I further enquired why Sherlock was asleep the whole day, the answer again came from the good doctor. ‘He was in an induced coma due to a prolonged exposure to the deep tissue massage’.

I left but I suspect it’s not a massage they were talking about. It almost sounded like John was talking about sex.

***

_June 3 rd, Wednesday_

Woke up with a boner again. This is getting annoying.

Was on a conference call around midday but my mind was totally on finding ways to reject Benson as a possible husband. Mummy had not yet followed up with me but she would do so very soon. I was thinking maybe I could speak about how busy I am or the fact that I am terrible at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. But that doesn’t work with men. All men need are food, sex and the freedom to go drinking with friends. So I was lost, thinking of ways to say ‘no’ and crossing them off, one by one. Who knew rejecting someone would be so difficult if we wanted to be politically correct.

As it turned out, it was much ado about nothing. I shouldn’t have wasted any time on creating a Rejection 101 Manual.

Benson sent me a text and _rejected me_.

Great, now I feel…um….. _rejected_.

I was sitting at the Bagatelle club, listening to the sounds of silence that evening, when James Moriarty appeared in the form of a French maid. Cross dressing. Several old men were following him like bloodhounds on a scent. They were cross-eyed. “Hello I am Clementine,” James said playfully. He was wearing glossy red lipstick and mascara. Whatever else he said thereafter were directly absorbed by my cock.

Can’t describe the rest in words because words fail me. I ended up doing the do in the men’s toilet. I think the club will cancel my membership. I wonder what charges they will press against me though. Will it be about indecent exposure, defiling the pristine bathrooms or letting in a non-member….not that I let him in but I did let him stay.

I got James back home with me and found Sherlock sitting there. Imagine that! For weeks he doesn’t show up, doesn’t want to talk to me, snarls if I visit his house and that one evening I get a sexy Irishman home he’s sitting there like he owns the place.

At first Sherlock and James threw some sarcasm at each other, then they came to blows but didn’t actually do any fist-fighting, it was all threats and no action. Finally ended the fight by swearing and insulting each other in various innovative ways. I sent James up to my bedroom and gave Sherlock some tea to calm him down. Once that was done, he said he wanted to stay overnight. God damn it. One night I have with a foxy criminal and baby bro has to show up and demand his right to stay as a house guest. After a thorough interrogation I discovered that Sherlock was learning how to cook in order to prove John wrong. Yes, to prove him wrong. Apparently John had told him he could burn water if possible and my dear brother had taken it to heart.

I tried to have sex with Jim at night but Sherlock kept knocking on our bedroom door asking if he could make a midnight snack for us. Idiot, just as I am about to have my midnight snack of an Irish muffin….

Jim rescued me by saying he could make some fruit salad for breakfast but for now he should go to sleep.

It worked, I think. He didn’t come back bothering us again.

***

_June 4 th, Thursday_

Hello fucking diary

I am in Heaven. Jim Moriarty is a very good lay. He is also a bossy bottom, which has always been my weakness. The search for the Holy grail in bed landed me with a powerhouse Irish feast where I managed to have five courses in about nine hours. When I woke up I felt as if I had been whipped and then hung out to dry, then a truck had backed up and hit me just in case I had not been drained and battered enough. Whoa! I have never enjoyed being that exhausted and wobbly before.

When we came downstairs for breakfast Mrs. Finch was serving breakfast in the sunlit parlor. There was tea, toast, scrambled eggs, carrot juice with aloe vera and grilled sausages.

Then Sherlock appeared, naked, holding a huge bowl of fruit salad. Mrs. Finch ran out screaming, that pesky feline died of a heart attack, I think and Jim laughed so hard he fell off the chair. When I asked Sherlock what this was all about and if he thought it was funny in any way and his answer was priceless. He is a genius but he focuses so much on the complex and the varied that the simple and the obvious elude him.

He had read the recipe and followed it to the T. Unfortunately the fruit salad recipe had ended with ‘Serve without dressing’.

I tried to leave James at home saying I would come home soon but he said it was ‘Bring a family member to work’ day at Mi6 and he could of course come over. When I asked him how he was family, his smartass answer rendered me speechless. “Semen is thicker than blood and water.” He has a point. I had deposited numerous baby Holmes sperms inside him and for years he had been at my throat and my brother’s. He was practically family. So we went to work together where I almost got a nervous breakdown when I realized family meant those little humans as well. All the same stuff, just in small annoying packages. I dislike kids but they dislike me harder, _I think_. It won’t be a nice day.

A rather thin kid nearly tripped me at the hallway. I asked it if its mother fed him enough and if she was getting fatter on his rations, the little catamite snapped at me saying ‘By the same logic your mum must have died of malnutrition’.

_I hate kids._

One was following me as I went into the bathroom. Had to lock it in a booth. It started making all kinds of noises and its momma came into the gents room to retrieve it. Thanks to that little rascal that woman, who had never dared to look into my eyes or speak to me directly, got a chance to see me with my pants half way down.

_I loath kids._

Sherlock was not there when we returned home. Mrs. Finch said John had come over and taken him back to 221B. I sent a ‘thank-you’ text to John for giving me back my privacy and freedom. He answered with a simple ‘no problem’.

That night I asked Jim to prepare salad and serve it to me, in private, following the recipe to the last word and letter. He stunned me by improvising upon what my brother had done. He served fruit salad using himself as a platter.

*Censored*

*X-Rated-NSFW*

***

_June 5 th, Friday_

Fuck you diary

I can’t get out of bed today. As I write this diary the criminal mastermind has taken over my life. He had found out that the way to my heart is through my stomach and the way to my brain is through my long-underutilized cock. He manipulated me, the little evil imp that he is, and got me to scrap his name off all official records and list of suspects. He says he wants to retire and live off the little amount of savings he has accumulated. I have a feeling that ‘little’ amount isn’t so little after all. But I am not complaining, not after the night I had. I had a tub of ice cream last night, sprinkled with Irish seasoning.

No utensils were involved in the process.

Okay he is approaching me with a chicken father and some strips of silk. Oh they are scarves. He also has leather and fur handcuffs. Wants to play thief and cop with me! The conservative in me wants to read Shakespeare in bed with him while the kinky side of me thinks Kama Sutra would be a better idea. But he has something else, his trump card….oh, is that slices of black forest cake???

BRB.

…..

……

……..

I am back dearest X-Rated diary. The Iceman has thawed. Later.

***

_June 6 th, Saturday_

Mummy called me today morning, early morning.

It helped me in a way because I managed to final leave the bed and a sleeping James and walked out of the bedroom. I hadn’t gotten out of bed for almost twenty-four hours, except for a couple of breaks to take a piss and one slightly longer one to take a shower. Jim and I tried twenty-seven types of poses according to the Kama Sutra book. It was fun. Only problem, I am not a very young man anymore nor am I used to such stretching and elasticity. At forty such exercises can be a bit dangerous and risky and my poor achy breaky back bears groaning testimony to that.

“Myc, Sherlock wants to get married.”

Those words dropped a bombshell on me. Sherlock? Married? My brother wants to get married??? How can this be possible? Okay, so technically he can but that doesn’t mean he should. I am here, seven and half years older, still a bachelor and he wants to get married!!! Only two days ago he slept in my guest room because he had a blazing row with John and now he wants to marry him? Ridiculous. As usual mummy reminded me I should marry before Sherlock does and she has more options besides Benson. To my abject horror she patched Sherlock in on the call and said we needed to talk as a family.

I decided to be direct. I asked Sherlock what kind of nonsense he was planning.

He answered me with a sneer and a sarcasm dripping statement. ‘Do you mean our parents have been carrying on with ‘nonsense’ for the past forty-five years?’

Oh well, I have to get the cameras removed from their flat. Can’t be a voyeur on my brother’s sex life with his husband, can I?

One of my superiors called and asked me to fire one of my operatives. Why? Because the operative had told him he can’t take some top-secret papers home. I flat out refused him and reported him to the right authorities.

Greg Lestrade called in the evening, asking if he could come over for a drink. Before I could answer, Jim snatched the phone from my hand and told him to fuck off. While that move startled me I was very flattered with his possessiveness and anger. He didn’t want to share me with anyone. When was the last time someone had been so obsessively fond of me and got all cute jealous over me? That would be ‘never’.

At night Jim asked me if I wanted salad again.

I think I passed out at the mere thought of going at it again.

***

_June 7 th, Sunday_

What the fuck diary

Today I had to break up with my Rex. I woke up abominably late. I had to prepare breakfast as my housekeeper has run off in fear when Jim threatened to blow up her right ear with a state of the art homemade bomb made from baking soda, basil leaves and some kitchen bleach. Instead of one feline, we have three. Jim apparently has a soft corner for kittens. I am wearing shorts and T shirt at home, imagine that, shorts and T shirt. Instead of tea I had to drink coffee after breakfast. All my towels have been kept askew or dropped on the floor. My OCD is working overtime and I feel anxious and on my toes all the time. My home office is a mess as James has taken over and started his own ‘legit’ business right from my house.

Worse that all that, he even invited some people over for lunch and it was a ‘BYOBP’ party. Bring your own beer and pizza.

I tolerated the beer and pizza lunch and even managed to take a bite and sip now and then but the true challenge was in the company I was forced to keep for hours. All those people…. Oh the people, OHMYGOD SO MANY PEOPLE! Of all shapes and sizes and colors, talking constantly, the noises and sounds, someone chewing on something, someone stepping past him, somebody trying to talk to him directly, a cough here, a snort there! I sought Jim out and told him I was feeling unwell and he sympathized, then locked me in my bedroom and happily continued with the party saying these were his aides and this was their last meeting. He had accounts to settle, goodbyes to say, threads to tie up and so on.

Once they left, Jim and I skinny dipped in our pool, started making out and then…..

_Mummy and daddy arrived._

I have been shot twice in my career, once deported, thrice chased by armed assassins, once narrowly avoided getting blasted to smithereens and on several occasions endured tense moments when my superiors needed an answer and I didn’t have one. But this embarrassment takes the cake. Jim happily escaped with the only towel we had while I stood there in the pool, in chest-deep water, sweating as mummy and daddy stood by the side with mortified expressions on their faces.

The intention was to surprise me but they got a shock of their lives instead. I think they have decided surprises are not really the forte of the Holmes family.

But all’s well that ends well diary, my parents really liked my partner. Except that they know him as Richard Brook, a small time pretty actor from Dublin. Sassy but sweet, the epitome of a perfect son in law, his animated and cheerful demeanor the perfect foil to their other son in law John who was more reticent and serious. Over dinner they bonded and chatted and even started making plans for a wedding in the near future.

What a difference a week makes dear diary! Last week at this time _all I had_ was Rex, my umbrella. This week _all I don’t have_ is the same Rex, my beloved brolly. But after a few weeks I think James will be agreeable to letting Rexie sleep in our bed again.

Don’t expect an invite anyone. I still don’t like people or chatter – _Sincerely, Thomas Mycroft Chad Holmes._


End file.
